


we shall be safe out of harm’s way

by batyatoon



Series: lavender's green, lavender's blue [2]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Community: purimgifts, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batyatoon/pseuds/batyatoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Malkier's king, peace isn't mythical anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we shall be safe out of harm’s way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noxelementalist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxelementalist/gifts).



They go back to the Two Rivers, eventually.

Not to settle there, of course. There's too much to do in Malkier, too much work still to be done in its rebuilding, for its king and queen even more than for its people. But not so much that they can't take a month during one mild spring a few years after the last war, leave the fledgling kingdom in the hands of a steward, and Travel to Emond’s Field for a proper visit. A proper visit, as far as Nynaeve is concerned, being the kind where you bring your children instead of your royal retinue; and using Traveling to get there means they don't have to trouble Elayne for an escort through Andor, either. (Nynaeve does make sure to let her know they’re going, though. Privacy is all very well, but there’s no call to be rude.)

The spring that's mild in the Borderlands is positively mellow in the Two Rivers, fields greening and trees in riotous bloom, scent wafting like a blessing. They're welcomed by Perrin and Faile and by the elder al’Veres, Marin exclaiming over how well they look, Bran leaning down to exchange a grave greeting with the small crown prince and princess of Malkier.

Somehow, without either Nynaeve or Lan actually being consulted, the al’Veres wind up adopting their children as honorary grandchildren of sorts. Which means that Maric and Elnore suddenly find themselves with a sizeable family of honorary cousins, their own age and older. It also means that the lot of them seem to keep finding their way back to the Winespring Inn’s kitchens, confident in expectation of scraps of honey cake or preserved cherries, dispensed by Marin with a much freer hand than she ever had when Nynaeve was that age.

People are busy here, and prosperous for the most part, and content with their lives. It's strange, Nynaeve thinks, to see how well the place is doing without her as Wisdom; strange that it isn't more painful, that she can feel proud and pleased and barely even a little jealous. Possibly it’s because everything is so different here now, and the job of looking after the place would be different as well (and maybe, she has to admit, maybe a lot more difficult than the one she was used to). Or possibly because she has her own family to look after, now which somehow seems a greater responsibility than looking after a whole village -- or even ruling a country in the midst of rebuilding itself. Because her family is rebuilding itself too.

Peace suits Lan startlingly well, once he can make himself believe it's real. It takes some time, and for a while Nynaeve is afraid of what will happen to him when he does; she can imagine, just barely, what it must be like to shape yourself to one purpose your whole life, and then find that purpose gone. But he doesn't sink into apathy, or anything else she was afraid of. She ought to have known better, she thinks sometimes -- but then, there was no way anyone could have known better, really. No one has ever seen him without that mission, that burden, not once in his life. Until now.

Watching him beginning to relax into peacetime is like holding a quarterstaff, cut and polished and hardened for battle, and seeing it put forth buds, blossoms, green leaves. It's not that he’s stopped being battle-ready -- she doubts that he will, or would want to -- but he’s stopped trying to cut away every part of himself too soft for battle, every part that could ever do or be or want anything else.

They walk out together early one evening, down along the Winespring Water, hand in hand like newlyweds. The willows have put forth early leaves of the palest translucent green, delicate and lovely against the deepening blue of the sky; Nynaeve catches herself thinking about having a dress made in those colors, and wondering what material would best capture that glimmer. It’s such an inconsequential thought, nothing in it of wars or kingdoms or problems to solve, and she cherishes it.

Beside her, Lan breathes out like a man settling down to rest after a long day, brushes his thumb gently across her curled fingers, and says softly: _It’s lovely here._

* * *


End file.
